A Place in Hell for Second Chances
by SterlingSuspenders
Summary: And it can't be him, but it has to be him. More than anything, he looks tired. Hollow. Ed/Charley, Jerry/Ed.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Written from a prompt from the Fright Night Kink Meme on LJ. Slightly edited from the version I put on the meme. Enjoy! **

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><p>It's Monday, again. He fucking hates Mondays.<p>

After everything Charley's been through recently-saving the town, killing an age-old vampire, losing his best friend, his girlfriend, and getting one of them back again-and Monday still sucks. Everything goes back to normal. Hell, almost no one in Vegas has a clue what he did.

To be honest, he's not even sure how long it's been since he staked Jerry-and Ed, along with him.

Puffing out a wave of air, Charley drags his hands over his face and tries to clear his head of everything. Because he'd rather be anywhere-even calculus-than back there: with the smell of his best friend's ashes. The smell that still follows him. The life he couldn't save.

He falls, more than sits, in his seat and studies the grain of the faux wood desk. He picks at the edges where it's ragged and splintered and makes it worse. He doesn't make eye contact. Peeling up the edge of the laminate proves the rest to be more cheap cork than wood: shavings and pieces that come apart without effort. At the back of the room, Charley goes to work destroying his desk.

When the teacher starts role, he slumps down in his seat as if he could sink into it.

"Angela Reese?"

"Here."

"Rick Scott?"

"He's sick today, ma'am. Stomach flu."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Ed Thompson?"

"Here."

Charley shoots bolt upright in his seat, whirling to look at the desk that's sat abandoned for weeks. And there's Ed, looking-for all extents and purposes-normal. Tired maybe, but fucking _alive_.

And it can't be him but it has to be him. He looks just the same-looks human. Ed glances over at him and stares-his eyebrows quirked in the slightest hint of what might be an apology. More than anything, he looks tired. Hollow. His face looks sallow, like he hasn't eaten in days.

Charley spends the rest of class twitching in his seat, the hairs at the nape of his neck prickling with dread. Because any moment, Ed will change. Any moment, he'll throw himself at them-tooth and claw-and none of them (almost none of them) will see it coming. He flips between periods of never turning around and always turning around. He clutches the sides of his desk and _waits_.

Nothing happens.

The bell sets them free and Ed leaves without waiting for Charley; they haven't waited up for each other since sophomore year. Haven't walked home together in longer. It stings a little more than it should, now that he lets himself actually think about it.

So Charley shadows Ed, following him down the hallway and out the wide double doors. He knows the route Ed's taking, even after a year and a half of pointedly going the other way. Ed's path heads out and around the side of the school. That's where he catches up to Ed, snatching at his shoulders and slamming him against the brick of the building.

Ed looks more winded than surprised.

Charley holds Ed's head in place with one less than gentle hand, using the other to peel back Ed's lip and examine his teeth.

Ed flashes a halfhearted smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Even if I had them, do you think I'd show them to you?" He sounds resigned.

He sounds the way he sounded five years ago, right before they put him on anti-depressants. Right after he tried to kill himself. But at least Charley had been there for him, then.

He sounds the way he probably sounded two years ago, when he started on different kinds of "medication" all together. Charley wasn't there for him that time. He hates himself for what he's done. Because every pitfall Ed has hit, every low point, can be traced back to him-just a little bit. Just enough.

He lets go of Ed's face, but keeps him pressed up against the wall. Ed just looks at him, eerily impassive.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Charley asks, because he's still too terrified to be relieved. Because it's easier to feel angry than responsible.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Brewster." Ed shrugs. "All I know is that, one moment, you've got a stake in my chest and the next I'm in my bed. You know, for a second I almost thought the whole thing was a nightmare?" The words come out bitter. "But then, I found this."

He pulls back his hoodie to expose two purpling punctures at his neck-still inflamed and scabbed and unhealed. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Charley has to tear his eyes away.

Ed shakes his head. "But no vamp powers." He raises his hands as though in surrender. "I'm just some useless sucker with the sickest hickey possible." He chuckles at that. Charley doesn't find it funny.

"So you're-human?"

"Flesh and blood. Even got a heartbeat, again." He takes Charley's hand and Charley expects him to place it on his chest. He feels his throat tighten and closes his eyes, only to find his fingers pressed under Ed's jaw-frighteningly close to the bite mark-feeling the heavy _thumpthump_ from the pulse point.

Stepping back, pulling his hand away, Charley lets Ed off the wall and stumbles over his words a while before managing to say, "It's good to see you. I'm glad you're... I'm glad you're okay."

Ed's eyebrows raise. "Really? That's new." He sounds genuinely incredulous. And he leaves. Just like that.

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><p>Charley stops cold in his tracks when he spots Jerry in the lawn.<p>

And it's Jerry-there's no mistaking, it's Jerry. Same face, same build, same deep-set brow: every move he makes like that of a predator, power coiled behind those muscles that no one could possibly believe.

Every muscle in Charley's body screams at him to just run, and he's about to. But there's something not quite right with the picture. Something just a touch off. If he could just-

The sun is up. The fucking sun is up. And here's Jerry, weeding the garden or whatever the fuck he thinks he's doing, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Jerry looks up and catches sight of him-flashes a smile so reminiscent of his old self, it might as well have fangs.

"Hey, guy."

He balls his hands in to fists at his sides.

Each word out of Charley's mouth comes out sharp and barely controlled. "Just what the hell are you doing back here?" He does his best to stand his ground. "I've still got everything from before. What makes you think I won't kill you for good this time?" The fear in his voice seems almost palpable. There's not enough rage in the world to hide it.

Jerry laughs low in his throat. "Well, good luck stashing the body, Charley. I'm not just going to disappear into ash anymore, in case you haven't noticed." He holds out his arms as if to drink in the sunlight.

Something about this body language has changed;that raw edge of danger softened into something almost normal. But it's still there, somewhere. It hides, down low, in the whites of his eyes-comes glinting out when he smiles.

"Besides," he says, "Your friend, Ed? He wouldn't like that."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Jerry doesn't look at him. He disappears into his house without a word.

"You _son of a BITCH, what the FUCK does that mean_?" Charlie screams after him, but the man is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Ed couldn't say how he knows Jerry's here. But he does. His entire body sings with it-that knowledge that Jerry's back, too. Human, too. Still in Vegas even though, God knows, sticking around next to the house that's still in repairs after he burnt it down isn't the best idea he's had in his four-hundred years. And maybe he isn't quite as alone as he thinks he is.

Ed makes his way to Jerry's house like a man possessed-one foot in front of the other in a constant rhythm so familiar he doesn't even have to think about where he's going. As if he could smell him. As if he could taste him. But he's human, so he can't-but he can. He knows, somehow. His feet take him there. And before long, he stands outside Jerry's door.

He lets himself in.

And even now, Jerry is a creature of the dark. Strong arms stretch out from the shadows, twining around Ed's waist. They reel him in, until puffs of breath fall hot on his throat. Jerry's lips drag across the bite marks and Ed cranes his neck back for him. It stings; they haven't healed. But when Jerry encases them in his mouth, it's more pleasure than pain. Ed arches, unknowingly-presses into the heat at his back. A sigh escapes his throat. Content.

"You're here." Not a question. "What did Charley say when he saw you?" Ed asks, voice hoarse. He has to force the words out, one at a time, before he forgets them and gets lost in this.

The lips leave his throat with a wet pop and he groans.

Jerry drags his cheek along the side of Ed's face-an almost loving motion. But this is Jerry. Everything about Jerry is raw animal instinct. It was when he was a vampire. It probably still is, even now.

"Nothing worth mentioning."

Jerry's hands wander, now-trailing paths up Ed's chest and across his stomach. And as familiar as it is, the touch feels... foreign without the drag of claws behind it.

Ed lets out a low chuckle that, for a second, sounds so much like Jerry's, it's uncanny. "I still can't figure out if he was ha-happy-" His voice catches when Jerry's fingers slip down to his thighs. "Happy to see me or about to kill me." Ed falls into Jerry's touches-needing this. Needing to feel wanted.

"Welcome to the club."

"So, does this make us the un-undead?"

Jerry laughs at that-low, in Ed's ear. "Yeah, I guess it does."

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><p>"Peter, what the <em>fuck <em>is going on?" Charley clings to the phone like a lifeline. "Jerry is _outside my house_, in the _daytime_. Ed's-Ed's... Ed's alive." The panic in his chest starts to take hold. It taints every breath until his lungs burn with it.

"Charley-Charley, _calm down_. Let me think for a minute."

On the other end of the phone, Charley can hear the rustle of papers: heavy thunks as leather bound books are shuffles about. Finally, a quiet "Ah" comes from Peter's end of the line.

"What? What is it?"

"Alright, alright-don't get your knickers in a knot, I think I've got it." Peter clears his throat. "The steak I gave you-the one blessed by St. Michael? It doesn't just change back the victims-it's not that simple. Depending on the manner in which it's used, the blasted thing can have all kinds of effects. My guess is, the fact that he was already on fire and in sunlight did _something_ to change the outcome."

"But what? What did it do? What _else_ did it do?" Charley sinks onto his chair, a heavy feeling of dread taking the place of panic.

"How the bloody hell should I know?" Peter barks before thinking. After a pause he sighs. "Look, all of this is just theory and legend. No one's actually _used_ the thing on a vampire in ages. It's about as fucking cryptic as they come."

"Right. Right, thanks. Um, yeah. Thank you." He moves to hang up but the voice on the other end stops him.

"Oi, Charley."

"Yeah?"

"Be careful, would you? The last thing anyone needs is for you to go running headlong into something you don't understand."

"Right."

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><p>Charley pulls his hand back from what proves to be the fourth failed attempt at knocking-which may, or may not, be considered running headlong into something he doesn't understand. But this much, at least, he has to do. He fidgets in front of Ed's house, heart in his mouth, trying to feel grateful. It's just-there are all these questions getting in the way.<p>

That night at Peter's, he thought he'd never see Ed again. And he hated himself and it hurt more than he thought he even could, but he'd resigned himself to it. It was fact, it was solid, it was truth.

And no matter which way you slice it, the last time Charley saw him, Ed was a monster. But now-out in the daylight, no fangs, no claws, no blackened eyes-what is he now? How much of the monster is left?

Just as he raises his knuckles for the fifth time, the door opens away from them. Ed stands, slung in the doorway, shoulders and hips leaned against the frame. He crosses his arms and looks Charley over and something like a smile tugs at his face.

"You just gonna stand there?" He asks.

Charley tries and fails at a response, so Ed simply sweeps out of the way and into his house, motioning for Charley to follow.

They don't talk until they're in his room, the door closed.

Ed takes the chair in the corner of the room, forcing Charley to stand awkwardly before settling with the bed. He sits as though hyper-aware of it-or rather, of the things it's used for. Swallowing, he shifts uncomfortably and looks at Ed.

Ed stares back, both blank and expectant at the same time-eyebrows lifted, eyes empty. He props his elbow up on his desk and rests his cheek on his hand.

"I..." Charley starts, desperate to break the silence but with no idea where to go. "It's good to see you. Really good. I'm just-not really sure how things are, right now. How you are. And... I mean, I'm happy you're not-you're not..." He clears his throat. "It's just, things are different, now and-"

Ed cuts him short, his voice low and without inflection.

"Have you ever thought about how good you'd taste?"

A shiver drops down Charley's spine. "I-what?"

"I have. I always have-although." He stops to quirk his head in thought. "Before Jerry turned me, it was a little less literally."

Charley doesn't know what to say. But he knows every nerve in his body is telling him to run. Because this-whatever it is he's looking at-this isn't Ed.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Ed continues, still calm, still seated. "All these years and you really never figured it out? Really? You're telling me it had to get to the point where I _literally_wanted to eat you, before you got a clue?"

There's a lump in Charley's throat he can't seem to swallow. Ed gets to his feet and Charley recoils, pressing himself against the wall.

"Oh yeah," Ed says, advancing forward. His voice is still calm and even, as though the things he's saying are the most natural in the world. "Yeah, I wanted to eat you. One piece at a time." When he gets close, he crawls onto the bed, straddling Charley's lap-capturing the sides of his face and _making _Charley look at him.

"I'd have started with your hands, I think." He grabs them as he narrates, bringing them close to his mouth. Charley's breath hitches and he can't quite figure out if it's pleasure or fear that draws it out.

"Your thumb." He nips it. "Forefinger. Middle. Ring. Pinky. Your palms." He looks up from Charley's hands and meets his gaze. "Then your ears." He bites at one in demonstration. "And your shoulders-_god_, your shoulders." He traces them in kisses-turned-love-bites, leaving hickeys as he goes.

Charley fights to speak, but there's no air in his lungs. His chest jumps in quick spikes of breath that fuel his fear. His arousal. Because Ed's mouth is on him, and Ed's so close. So hot where their bodies touch-not enough. And so much the predator, even human as he is.

"I'd have licked your thighs," he groans in Charley's ear, "Tasted-but no bites." His hands plunge to the space between them, clutching and massaging at the parts of Charley's thighs he can reach. Charley bucks up into it without thinking, so that they grind together for just a second of ungodly heat.

"And your cock?" It twitches at it's mention, as if in response. "_That_, I'd have bitten. Teeth, but no blood."

Charley's entire body shudders. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, and he's way too far past terrified to be this hard.

"I wanted to make you come apart-literally come apart. For everything you've done to me. And I'd save your neck for last." He pulls in close, so that when he speaks, his lips brush Charley's throat with each word. He holds Charley there with a tender hand at his neck, brushing back and forth against the skin, wandering up into Charley's hairline. "And I'd put you back together again." He sinks his teeth into Charley's throat.

And even though they're human teeth, even though no blood is drawn, even though it barely even hurts, Charley arches into it with a moan.

He falls backward-or maybe Ed pushes him. All he knows is that suddenly Ed's above him, lips pulled back in an inhumanly human grin.

"Never pinned you for having a vamp kink, Brewster." Ed grins.

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><p>"You smell like him." Ed's probably not imagining that it sounds like a snarl.<p>

Ed glares back, unimpressed. "We talked. I took what I wanted. You're the one who taught me to stop asking for permission."

There's a moment where the fury in Jerry's eyes flares so strong, Ed waits for the black to flood in behind. But nothing happens. Jerry's human now-just like everyone else. When he calms, a tight sort of smile pinches his face.

He shakes his head. "He dropped you once, kid. He'll drop you again. It'll be worse, this time."

Ed raises an eyebrow and pushes off the wall. He comes to stand in front of Jerry, toe to toe, so he's inches away. "What, are you... jealous?" His draws his fingers across Jerry's chest, taunting.

Jerry snorts. "Of a _child_ who can't stand on his feet long enough to walk out of the closet? Please." His looks softens to something almost affectionate. Always almost.

"Besides," he says. His fingers reach out to caress the healing punctures at Ed's throat. "He'll never know what that felt like. Which means he'll always be a few steps behind."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: OH MY GOD, GUYS. I SUCK. I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN AGES. I'M SO SORRY. HERE YOU GO. HERE IS AN UPDATE FOR YOU. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.**

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><p>Charley catches Ed leaving Jerry's house. He snatches Ed's wrist and attention, hauling him into his own driveway.<p>

"What the hell are you doing?" Charley asks in a whisper.

Ed's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. "What do you mean, 'what the hell am I doing'? What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

One thing Charley can't get over is how calm and detached Ed has seemed ever since he got back-nothing like what he used to be. Nothing like what his vampire self was, either. He just seems... emptied. Hollowed out.

"I can't believe you're spending time with him after what he-"

Ed cuts Charley off with a laugh that sounds too cold and dry to have come from his mouth. "Alright, Brewster. Let's not forget who it was who left me out in the cold. And let's not forget who took me in."

Charley looks stricken, but he can't deny it. He lets go of Ed's wrist and takes a step back.

This time, Ed's laugh sounds closer to genuine. He steps forward to close the gap and places a chaste kiss on Charley's lips. Charley stands there and doesn't know what to do with it.

"I appreciate what you're doing. But these days, I actually can take care of myself." His eyes flick unintentionally to the blacked out windows, as if he wonders if Jerry saw. He keeps his fingers tucked under Charley's chin-flaunting it.

Charley won't meet his eyes. "You and him-you're fucking, aren't you?"

Ed laughs with his eyes, this time. He draws a thumb across Charley's cheek. "Don't sound so scandalized, Brewster. Until a couple weeks ago, you were great just running around pretending I didn't exist. Now you wanna go steady? Baby steps, kiddo."

Charley wrenches away; his eyes stay on his feet. "Does he know?"

"About yesterday?" Ed scoffs. "Of course he knows."

"And what's he think?"

"Why?" Ed steps forward, again-moving well into Charley's space: breathing his air. "He make you nervous?"

"Damn it, Ed-stop it!" And finally, Charley does meet his eyes. "I don't know what you want me to say! I fucked up! I was _wrong_! I was so fucking wrong. And you've got a right to hate me for it, but how am I supposed to feel when you turn right around after yesterday and go fuck the monster that turned you?"

Ed sighs. "Right now, I can't make you any promises, Charley. I don't know how all this is gonna go. But I'll tell you this-I'm not gonna up and leave you; I'll stick through it. That's more than you did for me." He grabs for Charley's hand-because he needs it. Because out of all the times he's reached for it, this time it's actually there. "You don't know what it's like-finally, I was the one in control. But now I'm just a loser again. Hell, now I'm a freak. Right now, it's you and Jerry getting me through this. And I don't give a shit what you have to say about him, he let me in when you wouldn't. I need him, too."

"I'm sorry," Charley says, and the words try to strangle him-because he realizes he hasn't said it yet. Not once. "I'm so sorry, Ed. It's my fucking fault. I let him get to you and I-"

"Hey. Hey." Ed's expression softens. "Shut up, Brewster." He kisses him. A real kiss. Maybe the first one they've shared that hasn't been undercut with secondary agendas. Something slow and simple.

"It's over." Ed tells him, the traces of a smile lingering around his lips. "Hell, it's more than over."

"Right." Charley nods, trying to sound convinced.

Only, Jerry takes that moment to open his door and stand, watching in the doorway—his arms crossed and his expression stony. Charley meets his gaze and for a second his heart picks up pace and all but races in his chest.

But then he remembers. Jerry is human. Whatever he was, whatever he's done, he's human now. Four hundred years of survival, and nothing to show for it.

So, Charley grabs Ed by the wrist and stares Jerry down. He pulls Ed away from the house, farther down the block, and Ed just laughs and casts sideways glances back at Jerry.

"It's hilarious that this is like some kind of competition between you two. I swear, I never saw something like this coming."

Charley doesn't stop until they're at Ed's house—up the stairs and in his room.

"Why you?" Charley asks, then.

"What do you mean?" Ed's brows furrow together and Charley almost wants to laugh—he's making that face and it just reminds him of how he earned his nickname: Evil Ed—the kid who could pull the most ridiculous frown in the best of situations. He was always playing the villain. And then he became one—or, a monster, at least. Something less than human.

Irony really was a bitch.

Charley sighs. "Come on, Ed. Don't tell me you haven't wondered. Jerry's been alive for hundreds of years. Why some high school kid from Vegas? What makes you so much more special that he's willing to do all of this? I mean, hell—he still dug up my yard and nearly burned down my house. I could call the cops. He's not _safe_ here, so why's he staying?"

"I can't believe you're saying this." Ed balks. He takes a step back from Charley, looking hurt. "I mean, _shit_, man—is it so hard to believe that someone around here actually gives a fuck about me?"

"Ed, don't—that's not what I…" He reaches for Ed but Ed jerks away and he realizes what he's done—what it sounded like.

"Y'know, we're not all like you—I don't have the whole damn world fawning over me, but I find one damn person who actually gives to shits and you're—jesus, I can't fucking believe you." He looks like a cornered animal.

"Ed, that's not what I meant. Stop it, okay? We can't trust him. You know we can't trust him."

"It's 'we' now, huh?" Ed asks, and suddenly he's on the attack instead of the defense. He's not helpless, he's furious. "When exactly did that happen?"

Charley feels flustered and desperate and lost and he doesn't know what to do. "Damn it, Ed! What do you want me to say? I fucked up? I did! I fucked everything up and I was an asshole to you and it's my fault and I _know_ that! And I can't change it and everything I say sounds so damn hypocritical and you don't think I realize that? I know, okay? I know! But I don't want you to get hurt. I _don't_. He's a monster, Ed."

The rage has left Ed's voice, but that hollow hurt still remains. When he speaks, he sounds too calm, too smooth. Too… empty. "I was one of those monsters too, Brewster."

Charley sighs. "For, what? Three days? It's not the same, Ed." He steps closer.

Ed shoves him back. "Tell me that when you've _felt_ it, Charley!" He steps forward, forcing Charley back. "Tell me that when you've been _hungry_. When you've tasted blood and you've _liked_ it." He backs Charley up against the wall and pins him there, his hands fisting in Charley's shirt, their noses centimeters apart. "You tell me it's _different_ when you know what it's _like_ to not be human anymore."

Charley holds his gaze for a second—his eyes wide and frightened and sorry and unsure. Ed just looks broken. No other way to look at it. He's hurt and it's Charley's fault. It's all his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, hardly more than a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Again and again like a mantra. His hands come up to cup Ed's face and Ed squeezes his eyes closed against the touch. Charley buries his nose in Ed's hair, holding on to him, feeling him shake apart.

Ed's arms come up to twine around Charley's waist and he clings to him like he's all he's got left.

Hell, maybe he is.


End file.
